A Night with Durrant
by ArianaFandoms
Summary: One evening, while brooding in the pub, Philip Durrant meets a spunky woman who manages to turn his frown upside down. Obviously, I'm writing about Richard Armitage's Philip Durrant as portrayed in the episode "Ordeal by Innocence." Rated M for smut in the second part.
1. Chapter 1: Hi, Sugar, are you rationed?

One of the people I follow on Tumblr posts gifs and pictures of Richard Armitage's Philip Durrant every week. They were the inspiration for this two-shot. The title for the first chapter comes from 1940s slang meaning "hey girl, are you taken?" (Get it? Because they had to ration sugar back then.) So basically, it's a '40s version of a pick-up line…that doesn't actually get used in the chapter. But I was vastly amused by it.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Philip Durrant (Agatha Christie does).

Enjoy! I sure did while writing it. ;)

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><p><strong>Part I: "Hi Sugar, are you rationed?"<strong>

The woman walked into the pub, her high heels clicking on the hardwood floor, and took a seat at the bar. Philip noticed her right away. She had attracted the attention of many other men, as well, but with her flaming, red hair and figure-hugging dress, how could she not? The woman stuck out like the first autumnal leaf in a tree of green, and from her slight look of discomfort, she knew it.

The men were watching, but thus far, only one had approached her. She conversed politely with him, but Philip saw that her smile did not reach her eyes. So, being the gallant gentleman he enjoyed to portray, he stood and walked over to her.

"Good evening, madam," Philip greeted her. "I was sitting in that corner over there," he turned and pointed to his table, "and I couldn't shake this feeling that we've met somewhere before."

She looked at him, a small crease forming between her brows. But then she smiled, and this time, her eyes did, too. Philip didn't bother to quell the smugness that swelled in his breast.

"Why, I believe you're correct, sir," she replied, in a distinctly American accent. "Perhaps this morning at the newspaper stand."

The other man, realizing that he was quickly losing favor with the woman, tried to reclaim her attention with a question about her origins.

Before she could answer, Philip interjected. "May I buy you a drink while we get to the bottom of this conundrum?"

"I'd like that," she said. The woman apologized to her first suitor and followed Philip to his table. "I'm grateful to you," she remarked, once they had sat down.

"I know the look of a woman who's heartily bored," he said, with a smirk.

Her gaze traveled over him, taking in his impeccably tailored suit and neat, dark hair.

"Yes, I'm sure you do," she quipped. Her lips twitched, and there was the hint of a glimmer in her eyes that intrigued him. "But you know," she mused aloud, "I really _do_ think I've seen you before."

"At the newspaper stand?"

The woman laughed. "Maybe. You're hard to miss, after all."

"I _am_ quite tall," he confessed.

"Indeed," she agreed, that mischievous expression still present on her face. "Your scowl is quite memorable, too."

He arched a brow, while a half-smile, half-smirk played on his lips.

"But I never scowl, madam," he said gravely. "You must have mistaken me for someone else."

"I'm sure I haven't," she insisted. "You were with a tall, black-haired woman."

Philip very nearly scowled in response. He _had_ been in town with Mary this morning, but he certainly would not be telling the woman that.

"Well, it appears that_ I_ am mistaken, then." Smiling, he inclined his head. "I bow to your superior talent of observation."

She watched him with those sharp, gray eyes, and Philip knew she had seen his brief flash of irritation. But instead of commenting on it, she held out her right hand.

"I'm Zelda."

"Philip," he replied, shaking her hand. "Like Zelda Fitzgerald?"

"Yup." The woman opened a small, silver case and withdrew a cigarette. Philip dutifully lit it. After taking a drag, she explained, "Mom's obsessed with the '20s. Absolutely _hates_ the '50s."

"And you?" he asked.

"Me? I'm partial to the '40s." She indicated her black dress with a low-cut neckline.

When Zelda had walked into the pub, her shapely figure, accentuated by the cinched waist of her dress, had caught and held his attention. But now that she was sat in front of him, Philip could not resist sneaking a glance at her décolletage.

"Ah yes," he murmured. "Your ensemble is so authentic that it gave me flashbacks of the war."

She looked at him blankly, as though she were unsure of how to take his words. He smiled. That seemed to put her at ease, because she gave a sharp laugh while taking another puff of her cigarette and exhaling the smoke.

"Didn't you promise me a drink?" she inquired.

"I did indeed," Philip answered, standing. He donned his coat and held out his hand towards Zelda. She took it and allowed him to help her into her coat. "But not here," he said, his voice pitched lower. "Somewhere more...private."

Proffering her his arm, he led Zelda out of the pub, his cold, blue eyes surveying her features.

"Of course, only if you are amenable," he added, almost as an afterthought.

She looked critically at him, and for an instant, he feared she might decline. But then the frown cleared, and she said, with a wink, "Well, you _do_ owe me that drink."

#

Since taking Zelda to the lodge was out of the question, Philip bought a bottle of brandy and followed her to the hotel at which she was staying. As he entered the room, he was struck by the realization that he knew absolutely nothing about this woman, nor she about him. He'd had his fair share of affairs, but all had involved women with whom he was at least acquainted. Zelda, however, was a mystery.

Never one to conceal his thoughts, Philip asked, "So...what's a beautiful American doing in this sleepy part of England?"

She arched a brow at him, unimpressed by his flattery, and took a careful sip of brandy.

"My grandfather died and left me some money," she replied. "So I'm here for his funeral."

His eyebrows rose in mild surprise. "You don't sound very bereaved."

"I barely knew him," she said, shrugging. "He and Dad were estranged for most of my life. In fact, I was shocked to have been included in his will at all."

"Your father's side is British, then," deduced Philip.

He took a swig of his brandy, watching Zelda cross one leg over the other. Clad in sheer, black stockings, her legs were long and shapely. His hands itched to feel them.

"Nothing gets past you, does it?" she quipped good-naturedly. Although he was generally averse to being teased, her irreverence had charmed him and had dulled the irritation he would ordinarily feel. "Yes, my father's side is British. Dad came to America in 1926, met Mom, and the rest, as they say, is history."

Philip leaned forward and placed a hand on her knee.

"What say you and I make a little history, too?"

Her face was expressionless for an instant, then it broke into a grin, which was accompanied by giggles.

"I cannot believe you just said that."

Philip indulged her with a sheepish smile, a rarity for him. "I'm not...how shall I say?...accustomed to flirting," he conceded.

"No, I would imagine not," Zelda intoned, eyeing him pensively. "Well, in answer to your question, that would be just the bee's knees."

"The bee's knees?" he repeated, raising a skeptical brow.

"Like I said," she replied, "Mom loves the '20s."

He pulled her up from the sofa and wrapped his arms around her waist. "The bee's knees it is, then."


	2. Chapter 2: Marvel

The second and final part of this two-shot. Rated **M**, as it should be.

Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Part II: Marvel<strong>

If ever the term 'firecracker' had fit a woman, it was Zelda. She was a marvel, generous and passionate and beautiful in her pleasure. Philip watched her eyes flutter shut as he cupped her breast, while his mouth latched onto the other one. He might be somewhat cold and callous in his demeanor, but as a lover, Philip enjoyed lavishing attention upon his partners.

There had been little preamble. Clothes had been shed, with Zelda initiating the process by unbuttoning his shirt. Things had quickly grown heated after that, and Philip hadn't been afforded much of an opportunity to admire her figure. It had been alluring in that dress, but seeing the bare, pale expanse of skin at his disposal was making him throb.

His hands stroked lower, over her taut belly and the flare of her hips. Pulling back, he gazed down at her.

"Your expression right now is the dictionary definition of a smolder," she remarked, with a laugh in her voice.

Normally that smolder was more akin to a glare, but surely no man could glare at Zelda, not even the contemptuous Philip.

"Is that so?" he asked, his voice deep and husky. Still looking at her, he kissed first one hipbone, then the other. She nodded, but her gray eyes darkened to an almost charcoal color. "Well, it _might_ have something to do with the beautiful woman lying underneath me."

To his amusement but not to his surprise, Zelda did not blush. She laughed.

"There's no more need to be charming," she said dryly. "You've already got me in bed."

"My, my," Philip's eyebrow rose. "Not only do you dye your hair flaming red and flaunt your figure, you also dispense with false demureness. What a fascinating woman you are, madam."

She shrugged, which produced a rather intriguing effect that caught and held Philip's attention.

"Why should I pretend to be someone I'm not?"

"Societal expectations?"

"Oh yes, those," she mused aloud. "If I conformed to how society expected a woman to behave, I would certainly not be here with you. And that, I think, would be a shame."

Philip was prevented from responding as she pulled his head down for a kiss. Their lips met and opened. Hands caressed and stroked. Thighs slotted together, bringing pelvises into contact to join slick softness with rigid smoothness.

He enjoyed how responsive she was, how she arched up into him when his finger circled her clit, before it dipped lower and deeper. Her thighs parted, allowing him unrestricted access of which he took full advantage. Another finger slipped inside, stroking her, coaxing sounds from her that shot straight to his groin.

So entranced was he by her that he didn't notice the hand snaking down until it closed around his erection. He jerked reflexively, and the motion pressed her thumb into his frenulum. Philip groaned. Zelda echoed it as he continued to thrust his fingers and increased the pressure on her clit. Her breathing changed, and he felt the first signs of her impending climax. It only took one, hard nudge of his fingers, before she gave a shuddering moan and tightened her grip on his cock. Philip very nearly came, as well.

Wasting no time, he removed his fingers and eased into her, groaning at the way her slick, tight heat surrounded him. Her legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him in to the hilt. He began with long, slow thrusts, but as Zelda met each one, he picked up the pace. Philip was hurtling swiftly and steadily towards orgasm, when hands pushed against his shoulders.

His eyes opened, and he surveyed her with the most concern he'd likely shown anyone.

"Have I hurt you?"

"No," she said. "I just want you on your back now."

He raised his eyebrows in mild surprise but slid his hands under her to roll them. Gazing up at her, he grinned. Her neatly pinned hair had come free and was hanging in loose ringlets around her face. Philip couldn't resist burying his fingers in them as he pulled her in for a kiss.

Zelda began moving, rotating and undulating her hips and tempting his hands from her curls. She squeezed around him; he squeezed her flesh in response. Now it was his turn to meet her movements, thrusting up with each downward swivel of her pelvis. Their lips parted as they shared panted breaths and swallowed each other's moans, gasps, and groans.

Warmth pooled at the base of Philip's spine, spreading like wildfire to other parts of his anatomy. Her hands tightened on his shoulders, nails digging in, and he knew Zelda was close, too. She broke away from him to rest her forehead against his as she moved atop him. Seconds later, her tight heat clamped down on him, and she cried out softly. A few more thrusts had him groaning through his own release and pulling her tightly against his body.

Philip held her like that while their spasms abated, his face hidden in the crook of her neck. When he finally looked at her again, she was grinning.

"Those were some very, very large bee's knees," Zelda quipped. Her eyes still managed to twinkle, despite her otherwise sated, sleepy expression.

He kissed her, and if his own lips twitched into the hint of a smile...well, Philip was okay with that.


End file.
